Lost to Memory: A Tale of Redwall
by Traveler1861
Summary: There was a lapse; between the return of Martin and Gonff from the Northlands in search of Luke, to the time Martin hung up his sword. Countless tales could have been weaved during that spanse. Follow the Champion of Mossflower, on a journey to free a distant land, and give hope to a nation.
1. Prologue

**_A/N: As a new writer to the fandom, I'd like to greet all of you. Oi, I posted something earlier, but wasn't supposed to yet DX. So if you read that, you know basically how this is gonna start. This time around, however, I bring you the little prologue. Expect more tomorrow; don't worry, it will be much longer than this._**

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Snow capped the trees and blanketed the land below, transforming the world into a pure white wonderland. In the warm and cozy Great Hall, everybeast was gathered to hear a tale from the beasts who had arrived the morning before. A wizened old hare had led the band from the west, having arrived with his grandson, Jubaliah, a young river otter, and a mousewife in her middle seasons. The group had hailed from a land from far across the Great Sea, a land known to them as Brazia. Sipping hot mint tea, the mousewife started out, her soft voice effectively silencing all in the Hall.

"Please, everybeast." There was a hush. "When you invited us in, showed us such hospitality, we were more than gracious. Upon seeing the tapestry of your wonderful Martin, I believe we found a small way to repay you. Hopefully you enjoy."

A tiny mousebabe interrupted, scrambling into the adult's lap. "Is da story 'bout Martin?" He asked hopefully.

The ancient hare laughed quietly. "I reckon so, little 'un. Hop on down an' sit with your liddle pals, an' listen good."

"Countless seasons ago," the mousewife continued, smiling down at the Dibbuns, who of course were closest to the storytellers, "the beasts of our home were at war, against the cruel Santisma, and his vast army. Long had our forces fought, but we were disorganized, all rash and too stubborn to see the solution. Until one day, from across the sea, came our hero... Who we believe is your own Martin the Warrior!"


	2. A Slave Ship Meets its Doom

**_A/N: Well, guys, I hope you enjoy this little story. I'll admit, it might not be so little by the time it's finished. But it all depends on the response I get, so send in your thoughts and feedback please._**

**_DISCLAIMER: I dot not own Redwall or any recognizable characters. I own only the plot and my OCs_**

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The first winter after the completion of Redwall Abbey was especially brutal, as if testing the strength of the newfound community. Snowdrifts were treacherously deep and growing deeper by the moment as more icy flakes drifted from the sky, pushed by the howling north wind. Despite the cold, one beast stood watch over the red sandstone walls. Martin the Warrior was restless, staring at the vast blanket of soft snow that lay draped over the earth. The moon hung high and bright over the mouse warrior's head, casting muted silver light waves over the earth. Mossflower at midnight was a land of serene beauty.

"What're ye doin' up 'ere, matey? Too cold for anybeast to be up on these walls tonight. Ye'll catch yore death o' cold."

"Spoken like a true old mousewife," was the soft reply.

The self-proclaimed Prince of Mousethieves draped a heavier cloak about his friend's shoulders, and followed the warrior's gaze west. The creatures' breath hung crystallized in the frosty air, blowing south with the wind. They stood in silence, mind lost to memory.

"Surely we rogues have had our fill of roving," Martin argued quietly with himself.

Gonff chuckled softly and gave the warrior a wry look. After another few moments' silence, the thief nudged the warrior.

"We stay out here any longer, mate, an' by mornin', the Dibbuns'll mistake us for ice sculptures. Let's pilfer a bit o' elderberry wine from the kitchens an' step on back to the gatehouse."

Martin grinned and clapped a paw on Gonff's shoulder. The pair flitted like shadows over the pristine Abbey grounds, course set for the kitchens, where waited the treasure of a cold night- elderberry wine and warm scones, oozing honey, with a small bag of candied chestnuts to be shared as well.

* * *

Far to the southwest, where frothing waves crashed onto the rocky shore and snow swirled in the howling tempest, a slaving ship met its doom. With a great splintering crack the hull was breached as monstrous waves smashed the horrid vessel against the sharp stones. The ship was torn apart, the screams of vermin and slaves alike cut short by the frosty paw of Death. A passel of oarslaves, six total, were the only souls to survive the fatal wreckage. The company was spared the jagged edges by a larger wave, buffeting them strongly, yet delivering them safely on the softer shores above the rocks.

"Agh! Jubal!" Sputtered a strong mouse, Rias by name, to the young hare chained to his side.

"Still here, bub," the fellow gasped, coughing up foul-tasting ocean water. "Still here."

The pair pushed themselves to their knees to look at the three grown creatures on the shore a few lengths away. The squirrel, hare, and mousemaid were unconscious and growing colder in the snow. A wail, interrupted regularly by coughs and sputters, rent the already chaotic night air.  
Rias weakly crept to the mousemaid and extracted a tiny bundle from her grasp. The babe was tiny and starving, howling his miseries to any who would hear them, as his father clutched him close in an effort to bring warmth back to the babe's frosty body.

"Jubal, we've got to get 'em warm," Rias said through a shudder as the north wind froze his wet fur and pricked him with thousands of icy needles.

The hare was quick to spot a small cave on the cliffside, and he and Rias struggled to drag the dead weight into the small shelter. Soon they were all in the back of the cave, pressed altogether in misery as the wind howled outside. Jubilee, the lanky young hare, was checking the pulses of their unconscious comrades. All three were weak, but present.

"How's the pup?" Jubal asked, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"Not good," Rias despaired, rubbing the mousebabe's small body. He wouldn't warm.

"Pass 'im over."

Jubal clutched the infant in the space between his gaunt stomach and his thighs and lowered his head over the babe, breathing shakily. Rias tried rubbing warmth into his wife's body as the hare tried to warm his son. The situation was desperate.

"Oh, c'mon," Jubal whispered hoarsely. "Jus' need to get through the night. Then we c'n work this all out. Just need to get through tonight... Just... Tonight..."

Tears of desperation streaked down the faces of both creatures as the events of the day played wildly though their minds. They had been freed from the galley of a slaveship by the mercy of the tempest, to freeze to death in a strange land. Freedom somehow did not taste so sweet as they dreamed it would.

* * *

Dawn on the next blustering day was dreary, clouds hanging heavily over the sky. Jubal, the young hare, was standing outside the cave, fur stiff and frozen to his body. Ice shards clung to the mottled fur that ranged from light cream to warm tan to dark liver brown. The young fellow's tattered clothing hung stiff, and was in enough pieces to clearly show the multitude of scars marring his back and shoulders. He lowered his head, eyes hooded in grief. Below, the waves crashed relentlessly on the rocks. Most of the wreckage had been washed away by now, including the many bodies that had strewn the rocks and bit of shoreline beneath them.

Two more had joined the multitude. The squirrel and Helena, Jubal's young wife, had not made the morn. Fresh tears coursed down the hare's cheeks as he remembered finding the maid, stiff as a board and the most horrible expression of anguish. The squirrel, who none of them had acquainted, looked just as awful.

"I'm sorry about yore wife, Jubilee," Rias hoarsely murmured, laying a paw on his friend's shoulder, the broken chain around his wrist rattling as he did so.

"I jus' 'ope the same don't befall you, bub," Jubal whispered, flattening his ears to the back of his head in his grief.

"We gotta move," the mouse reminded. "If they're to live, we've gotta get out of here."

Jubal could hear the breath rattling in his friend's chest, and could feel it in his own. They were already growing ill, and the pair inside the cave were no doubt worse off.

"I c'n carry Miss Ada, Ri. You don't look half well enough to do it yourself," he remarked quietly.

"Bu-"

Jubal cut the mouse off. "Take care o' the babe. He needs you, Rias."

They returned to the cave and Jubal gently lifted the small mouse lady in his arms and looked to Rias, who softly cooed to the babe at the mouth of the cave.

"Where to, bub?" Jubal asked, ears still drooping sadly.

"We need to go inland. Maybe the weather will be better there."

Jubal nodded, looking east. The snow and sleet had stopped sometime during the night, leaving the land a soft, almost shapeless blanket of powdery white.

* * *

_**A/N: Please review- I'm open to constructive criticism. Anything to better myself. No, Jubal doesn't talk like the traditional Redwall hare, but I assure you, the other dialects will be done properly.**_


	3. A Friend Gained

_**A/N: Hard to get these chapters done on the iPad, I tell ya. It's been a very cold and dreary day in Texas, but that's allowed me to bring you people this chapter. Enjoy.**_

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As they traveled, Rias's condition grew steadily worse, though the weather warmed slightly. They managed to find a frozen pool of fresh water, which they broke into and drank deeply from. Gulls had all migrated to warmer climates, and so offered no threats to the wayward travelers as they continued their journey.  
Jubal watched Rias out of the corner of his eye as he struggled to remain on his footpaws. The mouse was almost bent double in his efforts, breathing raggedly. Jubal slackened his pace and walked with his shoulder brushing Rias's. The haggard creature looked up at him with sad eyes.

"I... I can't make it, Jubilee," he despaired. "I'm givin' out."

"No, Ri. We gotta keep goin'." Rias sent the hare a look of agony, and he changed his tune. "Mebbe we can rest a short while. You stay 'ere, an' I'll see about makin' us a fire."

He knew it was impossible. Everything was soaking wet and frozen; there wasn't a dry scrap of wood to be had, let alone enough tinder to even start a fire. As he cast about, however, he spied a short, hunched beast watching from beyond a snowdrift. Immediately on the alert, the hare crept cautiously forward, feigning interest toward the ground as if looking for something dry enough to burn. The creature sidled around, barely staying within the hare's peripherals.  
Jubal edged closer, and as soon as he was close enough, he crouched down low, muscles coiled like a spring. The spring unwound and the powerful hare shot toward the stranger like an arrow from a bow.

The ancient mole flinched visibly, and backed a step, raising his digging claws to protect his face. Jubal slid to a halt, panting raggedly even from the short burst of speed. It had been far too many seasons since he had last run free, and he couldn't control the weakness in his knees.

"Oi figgered you'm beasties needed 'elp. Oi saw 'ee travellen', an' 'ow bad 'ee were laggen'," the ancient creature started slowly, once they had both calmed down. "Coom wi' me, an' bring 'ee friends."

Jubal nodded once without a word and backed away to fetch Rias and the mousewife, Adelia. The mouse lagged several paces behind, but still they made it to the mole's hidden home in good time. The home was dug deep into a hillside, built to last, no doubt by the very mole before them now. A dusty bookshelf stood in one corner, a cupboard in another. There was a small kitchen, small living space, but quite a large area that was largely unused. Here is where the strange mole placed the newly freed slaves. Several sacks and blankets made a good, comfortable pallet on the floor, big enough for them all to lay on comfortably. In the warm dwelling, the ice encrusting their fur melted quickly, and their host was just as quick to offer them towels to dry off. He brewed hot tea and several remedies of his own invention and offered them kindly to the sick beasts.

"Thanks kindly," Rias spoke for the party. "My name's Rias, the jackrabbit 'ere is Jubilee, this is my wife Adelia, and son..."

Rias trailed off. The babe didn't have a name. The mole nodded, understanding.

"Oi'm Mollander. Where you'm coom from, Maister Rias?"

"We're from across the sea," Jubal answered, looking up from his paws, which were still in broken chains. Mollander nodded sagely as he poured a foul-smelling medicine gently down the mousebabe's throat. The tiny creature coughed and sputtered momentarily, but soon settled.

"Naow, wot wurr you'm weary travelers doin' owt inn'ee cowd?" Mollander asked, gently passing the unnamed infant back to his father.

Jubal told of the slaveship meeting it's doom, but offered no other information. Neither he nor Rias seemed eager to disclose the whole tale. Despite his curiosity, the ancient Mollander did not pry. In the silence that followed, Adelia stirred. Rias was at her side in an instant, helping her to sit up and rejoin the world.

Thousands of nails were being hammered into her brain and the fleeing cold in her body gave way to sharp, intense pain that shot from ear tips to tail. Just what had happened after the ship's hull was breached was impossible to tell, but it had left her beaten. Rias's paws wound about her shoulders and waist to help her sit up. Adelia reluctantly allowed her eyes to flit open, and stared at the homely face of the ancient mole.

Mollander smiled at the maid and her confused, slate-grey eyes. "Hurr, t'is gudd you finally joined in 'ee wor'd, Miz Ade'ia. Else you'm 'ave missed owt on t'is yurr moler's best-cooked supper in seasons' toime, ho aye."

Adelia blinked slowly as her gaze travelled the dwelling, dizziness coming and going as it pleased. Rias grasped her shoulder in support as the mousemaid painfully ground out her soft reply.

"It's... Quite good to be back... With the world... Might I..?"

She hoped the ancient one understood.

"Moi name's Mollander, an' Oi think 'ee could use some o' this, Miz Ade'ia."

The mole smiled warmly as he offered the same concoction he had given the babe. The mousewife drank tentatively, coughing hoarsely at the acrid stench and foul taste as she passed the medicine back to the ancient mole. Mollander accepted the cup, placing it gently to one side as he addressed the whole ragged party.

"Burr, you'm beasties set toight while Oi get 'ee supper cooked."

The haggard family huddled together in the center of the unadorned room, Rias cradling his wife, Adelia clutching at the infant, and Jubal curled close to their right side. Adelia cast a weary eye between the two males.

"'Re we really... Alive?"

Jubal chuckled, his breath at her shoulder. "Heh. Not quite sure yet, missy..."

Rias didn't reply, having finally given in to the exhaustion plaguing his body. Jubal wrapped his long arms about the shoulders of both beasts, enclosing them all in one warm bundle. He rested his head where Rias and Adelia's shoulders brushed together, and soon was snoring quietly.  
The tiny mousebabe was the only beast awake when Mollander returned with supper; a steaming cauldron of his own mushroom and leek soup, a good sized deeper'n'ever pie, a loaf of fresh warm bread, and four mugs of ale, and a small beaker of watered down greensap milk. The babe whimpered hungrily at all the smells, and wriggled weakly in his mother's loose embrace. The movement caused Adelia's eyes to slip halfway open and she fought to hold back a coughing fit. Each beast woke in turn as Mollander dished out helpings.

"This yurr'll do 'ee gudd. Get et down best 'ee can whoile et's 'ot," the mole ordered, paws on his hips as he watched the three adult beasts stare at the food with eyes like saucers. Not a one of them moved; they stared slack jawed at the simple array before them. Slightly offended, Mollander ventured to ask, "hurr, wot be 'ee problem?"

Rias looked up at the kindly mole with tears spilling down his gaunt face. With a great smile he replied; "I guess we've forgotten that there's more food than bread and water in this world!"

Mollander took the mousebabe as his parents and 'Uncle Jubilee' dug into the feast, carefully letting the tiny creature sip some of the watered down milk and taste small spoonfuls of the soup. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the adults throw themselves on the food with a will. Halfway through their second helping (during Jubal's third), Mollander called out a warning.

"You eat too farst, an' you'll make 'eeselves sicker'n 'ee a'ready are, burr aye."

They looked up at him, and Adelia blushed lightly, wiping traces of soup from her muzzle with the back of a paw. Jubal belched loudly, putting a paw to his mouth in apology. They continued eating slower, knowing the mole spoke the truth.

The mouse family was asleep swathed in the thick blankets that once belonged to Mollander's family. His wife had gone on to the Dark Forest several seasons before, his children all grown and gone with families of their own. Jubal sat awake, listening to his friends' light snores, and a shudder ran up his spine as he heard the rattling in their chests. The hare coughed hoarsely and leaned back with his eyes closed, trying to think back to a time before the slave ship and the cold.  
As dark mists closed in on the young creature, he could recall again the happiness of his old home, far beyond the western sea. The weather was unpredictable where he made his home, downright hostile on several occasions. But like many other brave beasts before him, he was drawn to the beauty of the savage land. The land was blessed; the land was cursed. Males saw the blessings, following phantom shades of hope, pleasure, and adventure. The females, who had to be impossibly hardy, cursed the frequently changing weather of the winter, and loathed all the more the long, hard weeks of staggering heat and no rain that made up the summer. As the weather changed unpredictably, so did the land. One day a beast thirsted, the next he was swimming. The only way to find where one was going was to get horribly lost.  
Jubal could remember the river Braize, it's blue-green waters coursing almost lazily to the sea, the wispy fingers of young willows trailing in the water close to his home. Perch and minnows darted hither and thither just beneath the surface, darting up to catch small bugs landing there. On the western bank of the river, beyond the willows and nestled in a grove of young oaks was the small cottage his father had built when Jubal was but a leveret. Behind it was the small, hardy garden his mother had planted.  
Jubal relished the picture while it lasted, but soon found himself whisked away into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	4. Screamwake

_**A/N: Well, here we are: new chapter. Thanks to everyone reading this story, especially to Lady Storm and Shay. Yes Shay, I know. I suckered you into it. But you're not allowed to escape!**_

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Gana, the fox Captain, was having a hard time. He was a land beast; a Captain in the army of his master Kinoconi- not the captain of a ship. Gana was a trusted representative of the feared warlord to survey the lands of the far east- those  
suitable for conquer, and those not worth the effort. The vile fox grinned maliciously despite the unsuitable weather he was forced to endure. Gana was spreading a message of fear wherever the ship landed. To date, the only beasts to challenge the verminous crew were chained in the lower decks and pulling oars, or rotting in a shallow grave. Even as a small force, the horde of Kinoconi- The Tyrant, The Conqueror, The Ruler of All - was unstoppable.  
Below the decks, bending to the whip of Jagtooth the weasel, were the unlucky souls enslaved on the large craft. Beasts ranging from hedgehogs to mice, voles and shrews, even an assortment of squirrels, hares, and otters, were set to work  
by the beat of a single drum and the stinging weapon held by Jagtooth. A select few had survived from the start of the journey, natives of the Braize River Valley and beyond. Prisoners of war, deserters, helpless wives or elderly, and even wounded from the battlefields had started out on the journey- but they were reduced to the weakening soldiers and deserters; the only beasts strong enough to continue.

"Ghar? How y'holdin' up?" Asked one such veteran to a fairly new mouse.

Ghar glanced sideways at the rough fellow chained alongside him. Travers Juvat was tall for a mouse, still young, though his strength had been depleted after many hard seasons' work on minimal rations. He had hailed from the Valley, raised alongside the newly-freed Jubal and Rias.

"I don't know how you're still alive," Ghar panted.

Jagtooth's whip cracking between their heads silenced the prisoners, and they continued their rowing against the mighty waves.

* * *

The ship _Screamwake_ had been aptly named. From the captain's cabin echoed the blood-curdling screams, sobs, and desperate wails of the unfortunate beasts who had drawn the attention of the ship's master. They were all young mice, not quite reaching adulthood. The pitiful maids were chained in the far corner of the rat captain's quarters, all wide-eyed and panic-stricken. Their skinny arms wound about each other despite the chains, trying to draw comfort from one another. When they were summoned the embrace tightened, and the desperate cries of those trying to stay together were the first of many to echo through the long nights.  
Fatcheek the stoat stared absently at the pitiful creatures over his captain's shoulders as the vile rat raged. Fatcheek was stupid, fat, and clumsy, the only thing keeping him alive being his obedience. His captain snapped his claws threateningly, drawing the slow stoat's attention once again.

"Fatguts! Do I have to repeat myself, y'mangy cur?"

The stoat blinked once. Twice. Thrice. "Well, cap'n Lo... I-"

In an instant there was a gleaming cutlass at the witless creature's throat and Lothar the Soulripper had Fatcheek by the ruff, glaring sinisterly into his eyes. For the first time during the conference, Fatcheek registered fear- the icy feeling spreading down his spine as his slow brain caught on.

"N-no, Cap'n, y'don't have'ta repeat y'sel'. I heard ya, Cap!"

Without a clue as to what he'd been ordered to do, Fatcheek fled the cabin, leaving Lothar alone with his passel of slaves. The cutlass lazily turned in the rat's paw as he eyed the lot, but a cry from the deck interrupted his thoughts. With a growl, Lothar strode out of his cabin.

"Land ho!" cried a skinny searat from the crow's nest.

On the horizon was a tiny smudge. Lothar joined Gana on the quarterdeck, and they exchanged wicked glances. The deadly message they carried would be passed further. Lothar barked out a quick order to the crew beasts that had gathered on deck.

"Soon as we land, I want parties out scouring the land. Slaves, plunder, rations- come back empty-pawed, an' yer head'll be mounted in my cabin wall! Now set to work an' quit dawdling."

Beasts scrambled to look busy.

* * *

Since the first large storm of winter, there had been several smaller snowfalls and gusts, each adding on top of the other. After weeks of merciless cold, the weather in Mossflower had warmed considerably, the snow beginning to melt. The beasts of Redwall could only hope that the unexpected change meant an early  
spring. Bella of Brockhall and Abbess Germaine disproved this.

"No," the ancient mouse shook her head, paws folded solemnly in her habit sleeves. "We're in for another bad storm soon, I can feel it in my bones."

Bella nodded her great striped head. "Aye, this one will be worse, I think."

Columbine, wife of Gonff, sighed, shaking her head. The Mousethief family had hoped to return to St. Ninian's, but with a coming storm, it wouldn't be wise. She, Gonff, and their son Gonflet had been staying in a spare room in the  
gatehouse with Martin, and it seemed that's where they would stay until the weather cleared.  
The warriormouse strode up then, a slightly worried look marring his features. The three females looked over at him with smiles that turned down as they studied the lines etched into his face. Bella put a gentle paw about his shoulders and drew him closer to the group.

"What's wrong, warrior?" The aged badger asked.

"Nothing in particular, Bella- Columbine, Goody needed your help in the kitchens a moment ago."

The mousewife gave the warrior a strange glance, but left to help the hogwife. When she was out of earshot, Martin brought Bella and Germaine close and spoke in a low voice.

"I don't mean to raise an alarm, and it's probably nothing, but Gonflet and a couple of other Dibbuns are missing."

"Missing? Who is gone?" Germaine asked.

Martin tallied the missing Dibbuns off on his claws. "Gonflet and Chugger, the molemaid Petal, and Dewdrop- the little mousemaid that arrived with her grandmother a fortnight ago."

"Oh my, what have they gotten themselves into?" Bella crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "With Gonflet and Chugger as ringleaders, they're no doubt causing all sorts of mischief. Does any other beast know?"

"Gonff, Folgrim, and Skipper are searching, and Gonff paid Chibb to seek out Lady Amber. Hopefully they'll be found before there's a panic."

* * *

Gonflet and Chugger swaggered confidently through Mossflower, leading on their party of four. They had been traveling since morning, after slipping away to get out of scouring dishes in the kitchen. Now is was early evening, and the sun was beginning to dip from its place. The mousemaid Dewdrop was toddling behind the ringleaders, clutching a tail in each tiny paw. She was a tiny creature, barely old enough to walk, and smiled beamingly at everything she saw, pointing out pretty icicles that reflected many colors. In the blanketed beauty of Mossflower Wood, there were many things to capture her attention. Bringing up the rear was Petal. The young molemaid lagged behind her friends, looking back at their fading pawtracks as they strayed further and further from Redwall  
Abbey.

"Can't us'n's goo back to ee n'abbey? Oi be's gurtly 'ungerer'd."

Chugger bounded to her side. "No! We gotta find'a treasure, right Gonff?"

"Aye," the plump Son-of-a-Mousethief nodded sagely, holding up a crumpled, crude map. "See? We just passed th' Tunnel o' the..."

The young mouse trailed off as he saw something move in the canopy of trees he was referring to. The others all turned their gaze to the treetops and snowdrifts, trying to discern a definite shape. Baby Dewdrop giggled loudly and stumbled away from the hedgehogs as a strange, sickly smell descended on the party. She landed with a loud, excited squeal.

"Yowowow! Gerrit off, gerrit offa Ridja!"

Dewdrop had a creature by the snout and was tugging its whiskers gleefully. Eventually she slowed and yawned breathing even deeper the strange fumes. She slid off the weasel's face, and through the haze clouding their senses the other Dibbuns saw several other painted weasels appear. They had wandered into the clutches of the Flitchaye!

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_**A/N: Yes, the Flitchaye are a bit too far south, but bear with me. And yes. Poor Fatcheek really is that stupid.**_


	5. Fatcheek

_**A/N: I'll be the first to admit, this chapter's kind of rocky, but I needed it all to come together somewhere. To eliminate confusion: The **_**Screamwake_ landed not long after Mollander found Rias & Co. Then, parties are sent out, and weeeeeks later, the Dibbuns wander off. Probably will make more sense now... I hope._**

**_Please Review_**

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Fatcheek the Stoat had been assigned to a party of about twoscore. As the largest unit of scouts, slavers, and scavengers organized from the fearsome crew, they were to travel inland, spreading fear and devastation as far as they marched. Word of the deadly crew, commanded by the far-reaching paw of their master, would travel like wildfire, and every creature would curse they day they were born. The forty verminous beasts were armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons; pikes, axes, knives, cutlasses, maces, and bolas. They were a filthy, stinking assortment of weasels, stoats, rats, even the odd fox. Leading the wicked party on their north-easterly course was Ozka, a large, foul-tempered rat picked out personally by Lothar. Ozka pushed them mercilessly, and their forced marches lasted from dawn till dusk, broken only by the odd skirmish, which ultimately ended in a pawful of new slaves or plunder of some form or fashion.

Pawsore and weary, they always pressed on- too afraid to speak out to the large, foul beast. Poor Fatcheek could not keep up. He was huffing and puffing after the first hour of every day, lagged behind the rest by several paces, and in the evening collapsed, exhausted, while others lit cooking fires and pitched what ragged, torn tents they had. He was always threatened; if he didn't keep up, he would be left behind or killed. But the stupid stoat couldn't push himself any farther.

The weather was surprisingly warm, the sun beating down softly on the stoat's exposed belly. He scratched at the warm spot, and yawned loudly, with his free paw wiping drool from his snout. Smacking his lips contentedly with his eyes half closed, he briefly thought about what a lovely day it was. The sun was shining, birds were chirping merrily in the snow-laden trees, and the world was at peace. As he opened his eyes, saw the ravaged campsite, the hastily doused fires, and the waste left behind by his fellow crew beasts, realization slowly dawned on him. Fatcheek was all alone, in a strange land, with no food. The fat stoat's stomach rumbled at the very stood quickly, eyes darting all around. They really were all gone! The slaves, the crew, Ozka- everybeast! Panic flooded Fatcheek; he had never liked being alone. Every tree, though wreathed with winter's glory and shrouded in sunlight, suddenly became foes. The little wood pigeons, cardinals, and robins all turned to giant eagles perched in the trees, singing his death song. The stoat fled.

* * *

Since capturing the six Dibbuns, the Flitchaye tribe had continued south, seeking warmer weather. They were largely unseen, all of them being cleverly disguised and moving swiftly, at a gait almost equivalent to the double-quick march by which Ozka's crew had traveled. Coming slowly awake with a throbbing headache, Gonflet found himself snout to snout with a young Flitchaye. The beast jeered and laughed, pointing at the bound group of Dibbuns. His mother cuffed him soundly across the ears, admonishing him in the Flitchaye's quick mode of speech.

"Midga no laugh atta foodmouse!" She tossed a scrawny paw toward Gonflet,and he promptly snapped at it, causing the weasel to jerk backward. "Worrayou think'a youdoin', littlemouse, littlemouse?" She cried indignantly.

Her mate, who was obviously the leader of the horrid band, shoved her roughly aside and dealt his son a hearty kick to the rump which sent him sprawling. He was larger than the other weasels, and had tiny scratches on his snout- this was the beast that had been set upon by baby Dewdrop. Seeing the scratches, Gonflet worked his way into a kneeling position and did his level best to roar threateningly at the weasel.

"What'd you rag-bags do with our matey, Dew?!"

Ridja, as he was called, cocked his head to the side and giggled. "Th' babymouse? She' ago first! Heeheeheehee!"

On cue, there was a tiny scream as the infant regained consciousness. The bound Dibbuns watched, eyes wide in horror, as Dewdrop was lifted over a large fire, and turned on a spit by another of the skinny weasels. They all screamed, tugging at their confines as the tribe joined their leader in gleeful laughter. Dewdrop continued to sob as each turn of the spit she was bound to brought her face close to the big fire.

"Redwaaaaaaaaaalll!"

The cry was from Chugger, and he sprang on Ridja fiercely, having gnawed through his binds. The young squirrel put his sharp teeth to work again, biting savagely at the scrawny weasel. The other young beasts joined in the cry until the woods rang. Ridja grabbed hold of Chugger's scruff, and threw him bodily aside- but not before the squirrel had taken a hunk of his flesh.

"Gerrem! Make'm go sleepasleep! Gerremall!" The weasel chieftain cried angrily, tusseling with the young creature.

Dewdrop was forgotten as the tribe hastened to knock out the struggling woodlanders. She continued screaming loudly, staring into the burning flames that singed her velvety babyfur. Suddenly a pair of fumbling paws unbound her and she was placed gently on the ground. She looked up with big, watery eyes that leaked glistening tears, and saw none other than Fatcheek the stoat. The bumbling creature, not knowing what a 'Redwall' was, swung his short sword over his head and joined the cry.

"Gerrout'a sight, gerrout! There's morebeasts!"

Already in a frenzy, and thinking that reinforcements had arrived, the weasels fled in a disorganized wave. The Dibbuns spied their unlikely ally and scowled. Chugger, backing swiftly to his friends, and untied them without taking his eyes off the creature. He and Gonflet advanced,

Spike and Posy a pace behind, and Petal at the rear. Dewdrop, with singed fur and small blisters, was pushed back to the molemaid.

"Who are you?" Gonflet challenged, sizing up the fat stoat.

Fatcheek blinked, gears slowly turning in his mind. "Uh, uh.. I'm Fatcheek. An'... Uh... Uh..."

_They could be slaves_, he thought._ Maybe even Cap'n Lo'd like the little mousey. He likes mouses. Gotta get 'em to camp, to the Captain._

"Thankee, zurr, fer saven' us'n's from ee weasely-beasts," Petal said shyly, looking over the shoulders of her friends and peering with her small eyes at the stoat.

"Uh, y'welcome... Why, why... Why don't you, uh, come for somethin' to, uh... To eat?" Fatcheek stammered, trying with all his might to make his newly forming plan come together. "Then I'll help you get back to wherever you're s'posed to be."

Posy and Spike, who had been quiet since the weasels had fled, spoke out.

"No thankee, we can get back on our own."

"We can't dawdle, our mum'd have our spikes if we're gone any longer," as they spoke, the six beasts came closer together.

Fatcheek dropped to his knees, wailing piteously. "Oh, please! I ain't had no company in ages! Please, please, take pity on a' ol' stoat!"

Covering their ears against the stoat's cries, they tried again to decline the offer. Fatcheek wailed all the louder, dragging himself to the footpaws of the young beasts.

"Fine, fine!" Gonflet cried, grabbing the stoat by his collar. He glared at the pitiful wretch. "But no tricks, matey, or the Prince of Mousethieves and the Champion of Mossflower'll be payin' you a little visit."

Fatcheek felt a chill go down his spine; he didn't need to know who the two beasts were or see them to know that they weren't creatures to trifle with. And so the six young abbeydwellers were led southeast, as Fatcheek tried to reason out the next part of his plan now that he had the young ones, unaware that a silent sentinel had been spying from the bare branches of the high oak trees.

From the trees, Chibb, Gonff's robin spy, had seen the whole exchange. With all haste he flew back to the Abbey, to inform the waiting Redwallers.

* * *

The _Screamwake_ rode at anchor, and all along the shore was scattered the remainder of the horde. Snow was dirtied and tamped down into solid, slick patches. The howling wind blew harshly at the mob. Patrols came and went at odd times, sometimes crowding the shore, and at other times the only beasts to be seen were those watching over the oarslaves, who's chains were staked into the earth.

In a large tent on a sheltered part of the shore was Captain Lothar, and his pitiful passel of mousemaids. Chained near the front, within easy reach, was Rosebriar. A favorite of the loathsome rat, she had haunted, wide eyes, and was constantly nervous, on the verge of a breaking point. She had been in his company since the beginning, since she was a little maiden. Now, her nerves had been tried for several seasons. More than once she had sought death, trying to strangle herself with the chains more often than not. Her throat was damaged, voice ruined. She had long lost the ability to speak. Rosebriar's only vocalization was an unearthly shriek.

And Lothar relished in the sound of it.


	6. A Gift

"What?!"

Chibb repeated impatiently his account of the scene to Martin, Skipper, Gonff, Bella, Dinny, and Germaine. All the while he was eyeing covetously the sack of candied chestnuts that would be his payment, and shuffling his feet and wings awkwardly. Martin was running out of patience with the bird's constant fiddling, and sent the robin a look that could freeze the very fires of hell. Chibb stopped his shuffling and continued speaking, now standing perfectly still and clearing his throat even more often than usual.

"Er, er, ahem, and the stoat came in, hem, swinging his short sword and calling 'Redwaaaaalll!' Harrumph! The children questioned the stoat, Fatcheek was his name, ahem, and the stoat offered them a bite and passage back here to Redwall."

"And they followed him?" Gonff asked indignantly, normally cheery face clouded with frustration and anger.

Chibb shuffled his claws again, puffing his little red chest importantly. "Ahemhem hem, harrumph, who is supposed to be telling this story, you or I?"

The mousethief returned to his place at Martin's side.

"Oh, they refused several times, but, cough, he dropped at their footpaws and started wailing in a most undignified manner, and-"

"And then they followed him," Martin deadpanned.

Chibb withered again under his glare, but did his best to preen his feathers imperiously. "Well, yes, I suppose they did."

"And you didn't stop them?!"

"He's leading them back for prisoners!"

"You didn't even try to help them?!"

The accusatory remarks came hard and fast, until Germaine held her paws up for silence. As the mediator between the robin and the woodlanders, she said sensibly,

"Now, there wouldn't have been much Chibb could do alone, he was only doing his job. Chibb, you did say the stoat was traveling alone, did you not?"

Chibb nodded, casting a vile glance at the woodlanders, happy to be out of the fire. "Yes ma'am, before flying back, I circled around to be sure of it, harrumph!"

"Bah," Skipper spat, crossing tattooed paws over his broad chest. "The blighter was just a scout, an' 'e's takin' the liddle tykes back to 'is horde, wherever it is!"

"Which way did you say they were traveling, Chibb?" Martin asked, a determined gleam in his eye.

"Southwest, I'm sure of it."

"Then it's settled, matey," Gonff looked up at his warrior friend, "we're going after them."

Martin nodded, but before either could leave to prepare themselves, Skipper stopped them.

"Hold it, mateys, you ain't leavin' without me. My crew an' I can help with the rotter's gang, if he has one."

Martin clasped the otter's paw tightly, smiling. "You're a true friend, Skip. Go and get your otters ready."

"Oi'll be a'cummen too," Dinny declared, shaking a hefty digging claw. "We'm give ee vurmints owd 'arry, so we will, bur aye!"

Gonff through a paw about the mole's shoulders. "Good ol' Din, haha!"

Before and of the party could leave the main room of the gatehouse, Germaine cleared her throat loudly. She and Bella stood side by side, paws crossed over their chests in a very similar manner.

"A word please, with each of you before you run off saving our Dibbuns and getting into who-knows-what kind of trouble," the big badger mother said sternly.

Abbess Germaine looked the party over with her ancient eyes. She straightened Gonff's green jerkin, smoothed Martin's whiskers, patted Dinny's velvety head fondly, and clasped one of Skipper's large paws in both of hers. Like a mother watching her brood go off into the world, she stepped back and eyed them proudly again.

"Warriors," she addressed them all. "Bring our young back home. And may all of you return safely."

The lot of them shuffled, mildly embarrassed by the motherly way she had treated them before giving her blessing. The ancient mouse and the badger chuckled quietly.

"We'll bring them all back, Abbess, Bella."

All but Martin turned to leave the gatehouse, but as soon as the door swung open, they saw almost every abbeybeast look up expectantly. They had been lingering outside, all hoping to look productive, while they awaited news from the party inside. Bella and Germaine made way for Martin, Skipper, Gonff, and Dinny. The warriormouse addressed the crowd strongly.

"As you all know, six of our young ones have gone missing. They are being led southwest by a stoat, into who knows what." There was an audible gasp from the crowd, and Goodie Stickle, mother of Spike and Posy, fought back tears. Columbine patted the hedgehog's paw softly, eyes lowered. Martin continued, "Never you worry- we're going to get them back!"

There was a cheer, and after a few moments, the crowd dispersed. Skipper left to ready his crew, Gonff and Dinny stole off to the kitchens to prepare haversacks of food for themselves and Martin. The warriormouse turned worriedly to Germaine.

"I didn't see little Dewdrop's grandmother anywhere, is she alright?"

The old mouse sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Poor thing's in the infirmary now. The weather's been hard on Meridia, and she's even older than I am."

Martin shook his head softly. "I'll talk to her before we leave. She's so worried about Dew, it'll be good for her to have a little comfort."

Bella laid a paw on his shoulder before the two friends left to give the warrior time to prepare himself.

Once back in the gatehouse, Martin took steps two at a time to his bedroom, and lifted his great sword off its hooks on the wall over the fireplace. He tested the deadly edge against his paw before sheathing it in the fine black leather scabbard. He then fixed the scabbard to his sword belt and buckled it so that the magnificent blade rested on his back. There was a knock at the door, and Gonff poked his head into the room.

"We'll be ready to leave soon, mate. When do we set out?"

Martin strode to the door and led the mousethief out, talking as he went. "After everyone is ready. We need to set out as soon as possible to catch up with that stoat. I want to talk with Meridia before we leave, ease her troubles."

Gonff nodded, "We'll meet up with you, mate."

As they parted, Gonff left to check on Columbine in the orchards, and Martin continued walking briskly to the infirmary. There was a kindly sister in there, and she excused herself; respectfully leaving Martin with the ancient mouse.

Meridia smiled brightly up at Martin. The warriormouse kneeled at her side and allowed the ancient creature to clasp his paw weakly. Meridia's mind was failing, and she rambled often about her family, who's location or well-being nobeast knew. She had taken a liking to Martin immediately, seeing in him her long-lost son.

"Now, Rias, where'd that little mouselet of yours get to?" She asked, her face the picture of worry. "She hasn't come to see me today."

Martin smiled weakly at her, gently squeezing the worn paw that clasped his.

"She went off on a little trip, old one. But I swear I'll bring her back home. She'll be back in no time at all, you'll see."

Martin patted the wrinkled paw and made to stand, when her feeble grip tightened. He looked into her blazing dark eyes and waited.

"Rias." With her free paw she searched the pocket of her dress. Meridia turned his paw over and placed a cold object in it before closing his claws. "Take this, and accept my apology."

Martin didn't understand. He tried giving the object back to the feeble creature, but she looked at him sharply.

"Keep it! Go back home, and take care of everybeast. Stop Him! Don't let Him get away with his horrible deeds!" The quavering voice rose, despite Martin's attempts at calming her down. "Go!"

Thoroughly confused, Martin slowly backed away from the raving creature as she continued muttering about war, tyrants, and punishments due. Before the warrior closed the door, Meridia had talked herself into a peaceful slumber. Martin shook his head, trying to make sense of what Meridia had been going on about, and took his first glance at the object she had given him. It was an elaborate wrist clasp made of silver. Scrolling patterns were fixed with turquoise stones, and on the inside was carved a message in an unrecognizable language. Martin felt terribly uneasy about the clasp, and the confused ramblings of the silver mouse just on the other side of the door.

Shrugging off the feeling, Martin put the clasp in the pocket of his jerkin and jogged to the gatehouse to meet Gonff, Dinny, and the Skipper of Otters and his crew.

The party of searchers set off that evening, waving back at the beasts sending them off. Gonff sang out lustily to Columbine, dancing a sort of jig as he walked. Martin felt eyes boring into him, and searched the crowd. The infirmary sister had all but carried Meridia out to join the farewell party. Martin shuddered as he unconsciously felt the clasp in his pocket.

* * *

On the far southwestern coast, Mollander's hidden home attracted no attention from the corsair horde encamped just south of it. Jubal had scouted out, being the healthiest of his friends. Now the young hare paced the kitchen, ears pinned to the backlog his head in frustration. He had seen the horde, the ship, it's two captains, and the slaves. There was no way for them to leave, so they had all been pinned up in the ancient mole's home, only venturing out when necessary. These times were infrequent- the cozy little place was well stocked. Poor Jubilee was going stir crazy.

Mollander paid no mind to the hare invading his kitchen space, and worked quietly with Adelia. She was a mouse of few words, and had recovered fairly quickly out of necessity; if she hadn't, her mousebabe would have died quickly. She took a quick glance over at the tiny creature, the spitting image of his father. Not a season old, he lay on his stomach, quietly watching Jubal pace holes in the floor. His huge, dark grey-green eyes caught everything; the swish of his mother's skirt tails- the dress being one that once belonged to Mollander's wife- the sweep of Jubal's left footpaw as it dragged lazily in the tight circle he was pacing, even the stirring of his father in the back room.

Jubal bent and picked up the mousebabe, ruffling his dark reddish-brown headfur, and glanced at the sleeping form of his friend in the back room.

Rias was unwell. Unlike his wife, friend, and son, he had not recovered from the shipwreck that freed him. His limbs were like lead weights lashed tightly to his weary body, his head felt as if it were being split by an axe, and his lungs were all but useless, pumping fruitlessly with each shaking breath he took. Mollander's remedies refused to work their magic as they had on the other members of his small family. Rias's stomach turned each time the foul-smelling concoctions were poured down his raw throat, and he vomited it all back up each time. The others were worried sick about his condition, and hopes that he would survive were slowly waning. Adelia dreaded his demise far more than any other beast. Without Rias, her son had no father to raise him, and none of them had a way to get back to their home.

* * *

Far from the hidden house, across the churning black waters of the western coast, across the bottomless blue of the deep ocean, the muddy waters of the Lower Braize fed into the dangerous Gulf of the Traitor's Demise. The Braize River was extremely long, stretching across vast plains, through dense forests, over hills, through valleys. The river carved awesome canyons, spilled over rocky cliffs, and above all provided a life for anybeast brave enough to settle in the vast expanses of the land known as Brazia.

But for several seasons now, it was no land for free beasts. Kinoconi ruled it all. His paw touched the farthest reaches of the land, and even parts of the lands beyond. The creatures of the Braize River Valley felt his presence the most. Rising above the trees and shrouding their homes in dark shadows was his fortress. The building was forbidding, but young, raised by prisoners of war and slaves for the great warlord. Barracks were built into the eastern and western walls, each two levels high to accommodate the portion of Kinoconi's army stationed there. Built into the south wall was the slave quarters. These were guarded night and day. The north wall was where the bulk of the fortress was. From top to bottom was Kinoconi's private quarters, from which he could see all that presided in his kingdom, a sort of museum of relics the warlord admired, Kinoconi's private armory and safe, and the grand mess hall. Other buildings- forges, armories, kitchens, and other places needed to keep a fort running were built wherever they could fit without intruding on the grand parade ground.

From his high window, the warlord smiled a deadly smile as he surveyed his kingdom in all it's glory.

* * *

_**A/N: Well, how do you like them apples? I'd have updated sooner, but school started back up (after a most glorious weather-induced six day weekend), and I didn't have the time to write.  
**__**Now, the relations between Meridia, Dewdrop, and Rias are fuzzy. And they will be. Just kinda wait that out and see what's going on.  
**__**I hope you guys enjoyed our little peek at Brazia and the bad guy (though of course we don't know much about him yet).**_


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